


A Laurel of Emerald Bronze

by Astralune



Series: A Colour of Dragonflights [3]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Green Dragonflight, War of the Thorns | Burning of Teldrassil, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-24 18:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astralune/pseuds/Astralune
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the War of the Thorns,  Ylora, a green dragon, has a plan that she hopes can put things back the way they ought to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set right after the 'War of the Thorns' content that was the lead-in for Battle for Azeroth's release.

The sunset was stunning, Cail noted, as it had been every one of the last twelve days that he and Zonya had been making a kind of holiday of their time at the remote, but superbly well-appointed summer home, tucked neatly away high up the Mulgore mountainside. He’d never been a great fan of Kalimdor, preferring his mansion in Quel’Danas, but even he had to admit the retreat was lovely; almost as lovely as the company, who he spied leaving the decidedly non-traditional building, and heading his way.

He grinned at her as she sauntered over, making no effort to hide his gaze as he looked her over - they’d spent most of their time here exploring each other’s bodies, but it looked like Zonya had something else in mind.

“We’re about to have a visitor,” she declared. Cail didn’t bother asking how she knew - she was a Bronze dragon after all, though she preferred to appear as a fellow Blood Elf - and he’d gotten used to her special brand of precognizance. “Cail, I’m sorry.”

He peered up at her from his sunchair. “Sorry for what?”

Zonya looked like she was going to answer, but a bright green swirl appeared beside her, the edge bordered with twisting vines, and through the portal stepped, Cail had to admit, a very attractive Night Elf. Well, if she were  _ actually _ a Night Elf, and not a Green dragon, he would eat his finely tailored hat.

The green face paint, green clothing, and green magic had given it away. And after his time with Zonya, he had started to pick up on a certain sense of presence when a dragon was about.

The new arrival glanced about, her eyes locking into Zonya before she sighed in relief. “Zonya, thank Ysera. We have to t-talk…” She trailed off, having noticed Cail in his very brief shorts, offering a briefer wave of his hand.

Zonya gave him a fond, exasperated look, and turned to the newcomer. “Ylora, it’s been too long. What brings you to visit us, all the way out here?”

Ylora gave Cail a long, appraising stare, which he bore with wilful irreverence, before she turned to Zonya. “You know what happened. You cannot possibly have missed it.”

“Missed what? I’m Cail, by the way,” he butted in. “Did something happen, Zonya?” He asked pointedly. “While we were out here, far away from everyone? On a holiday that was your idea?”

“Cail,” Zonya began, weary. “There was nothing to be done. Not by either of us, at any rate.”

Cail looked at them both, the gravity of the occasion penetrating his good mood. Ylora was shaking, and looking closer, there were tears streaking her cheek - the Green was barely holding it together, by his new estimation. And Zonya seemed heartbroken, once he looked for it.

“What happened?” He asked softly.

Ylora shuddered. “They burned down Teldrassil,” she answered, and then collapsed into loud, wracking sobbing.

Zonya quickly reached out for her sister dragon, and hugged her in comfort as she turned to Cail to explain. “Your Warchief has launched her war against the Alliance. She brought her forces through Darkshore to the coast of Auberdine, and… brought Teldrassil to the flame. Very few survived. A few thousand.” Ylora wailed again, and Zonya pulled tight around her.

Cail stared at her for a long moment. True, the Night Elves were Alliance, nominally the enemy, and they were an arrogant, boorish lot to deal with at the best of times, but… well,  _ Sin’dorei _ was more of a political distinction, and  _ Quel’dorei  _ and  _ Kaldorei _ weren’t much more different in the end. Skirmishes and battles were one thing, but Teldrassil was their home, much as Silvermoon City had been his, and when the scourge brought Eversong to the sword…

_ Oh, Sun, _ he thought,  _ their homes, their children. _ A few thousand, Zonya had said. So, this was genocide, then. The end of a people. He took a steadying breath, got up from his chair onto unsteady feet. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling the words entirely inadequate. “I didn’t know.”

Zonya shook her head. “I kept you here, distracted. You couldn’t have known.” She pulled back from the Green, whispered something Cail couldn’t catch, and Ylora nodded, glancing at Cail.

“I… have a plan. It is dangerous and tricky, but it is necessary.” She swallowed nervously. “I know how was can resolve this.  _ Fix _ this.”

Zonya raised an eyebrow. “You know what Nozdormu would say about any plan involving tampering with the timeline.”

Ylora nodded. “That is why I am asking you, noted intransigent, rebellious daughter of the Bronze, shacked up with a mortal, instead of petitioning the Lord of Time.” She ventured a small smile, itself a reminder of better times. On her, it looked like the birth of spring.

Zonya let herself return the grin, and gestured to Ylora and Cail both. “Come inside, the two of you, and we’ll discuss it.”


	2. Chapter 2

Cail and Zonya were seated around the dining table, its rich wooden surface hand carved into a circle. Between them sat a teapot, largely drained during the discussion with Ylora, which had dragged on into the twilight hours.

Ylora herself was sleeping now, laid across a sumptuous couch, having passed out practically as she had sprawled across it. Behind her, through the window looking out over the backyard garden, green vines could be seen creeping skyward, flowers blooming before their eyes. The Green had been running herself ragged, she’d told them, since that fateful day when Nordrassil was torched.

Now, Cail looked at Zonya, and rubbed a hand against his face. “You knew, and you kept it from me,” he said, not quite a question, nor an accusation.

Zonya sighed, and topped up her tea from the pot. “I knew  _ something _ was going to happen. I knew it would involve Warchief Sylvanas. I knew it might drive you to rash action if you knew on the day.” She looked up at him, and her voice quietened even more. “I didn’t want to  _ lose  _ you,” she said, an odd emphasis on the word. “Not yet. It isn’t the time.”

Cail thought about that for a moment. It wasn’t often that Zonya pulled her  _ I-Know-Best _ card on him, and the one time she’d been drunk enough to answer when he prodded, he’d had nightmares about the deadly fate he’d so narrowly avoided. Instead, he veered to more pressing matters.

“And this plan, it isn’t  _ rash _ ? I know you’re thinking about doing it, I can tell when you’re itching to do something crazy and dangerous!”

“Takes one to know one, love,” Zonya retorted, a smirk flashing past.

“Point,” Cail granted. “You’ve told me about this sort of thing. Breaking the rules. Changing time, altering events. You’ve told me it can’t be done, that it’s forbidden, that the Bronze Dragonflight is empowered to protect the timeways, not tear them apart.” His tone had shifted unconsciously into a fair approximation of Nozdormu, and Zonya smothered a wide grin.

“I know,” she said, and to Cail’s eye she suddenly looked sad and tired. “That’s why we have to do this.” She raised a hand, a plea to forestall him. “I know - it doesn’t make sense to you. Can you trust me? This will all make sense afterward, and I can help explain then, but right now…” She sighed, tired and frustrated by the situation. “Right now, I need you to trust that we’re going to do this, and for good reasons.”

Cail looked at her for a long moment, then sighed. “But, they’re Kaldorei,” he says, half-trying. He’d capitulated, and they both knew it.

“I’m not  _ any _ -dorei,” Zonya answered, as she reached across the table to take his hand in hers and squeeze it gently. “Not a year ago, the peoples of Azeroth put their factionalism aside and worked together for the greater good.”

“The greater good,” Cail droned.

Zonya gave him a swift smile, even as she tried to glare at him.  _ Not now. _ “I know the Horde and the Kaldorei are not allies, but you heard Ylora. Their population is now below minimum viable population levels. And-” Zonya shuddered suddenly, and Cail’s ears pricked up, attenuated to the sudden surge of terror from her. “- we, Azeroth, will need them in the future.”

Cail looked at her for a long moment. “This is not going to go well,” he says with a sigh. “Not the plan - Sun, I  _ hope _ that goes well - this. The, well, I guess it’s war now.” He tested the teapot, and emptied it into his own cup. “Actual genocide. And they are elves, in a way. Shit, Sylvanas was an elf once, too.” Ylora had described the devastation. Teldrassil on fire. Millions of Night Elves, men, women, children, put to the flame. Their leadership executed. A trail of devastation through Darkshore, not as cursed as the Dead Scar, but in his mind’s eye the comparison was unavoidable. Reports were confused as to whether burning the tree down was the plan all along, but Cail wasn’t sure which was worse - that such an atrocity was planned, or that it had been allowed to happen by accident. If the shoe were on the other foot, how would he feel about it?

He didn’t have to imagine it. He knew how he’d felt about Silvermoon City. Ylora had also brought word of the Siege of Lordaeron, and it was clear that it wasn’t the Alliance who had gone all scorched earth on the capital.

Zonya had been right. He would have done something rash. And knowing Sylvanas, it would indeed have ended poorly.

“Alright,” he said with a resigned sigh. Maybe he still was doing something rash, and it could just as easily end poorly. “What do you need from me?”

Zonya smiled in quiet gratitude, and the two of them planned until the first light of morning.


	3. Chapter 3

Ylora woke late, and fidgeted on the couch for a time, in the traditional manner of one who had risen earlier than their hosts. The light filtered through the window behind her, mottled by the thick shrubbery that stretched across it, broken by colourful flowers. Soon she heard the sound of a shower running, and shortly after that it ended, and just as she considered exploring, the mortal - Cail - walked out, dressed for travel.

“Morning,” he said by way of greeting. “Zonya’s left already, to go see.. Uh..” He snaps his fingers, as if to aid his memory. “Lothraxion! Lothraxion.”

Ylora frowned. “Surely it would be better to see the High Exarch? Turalyon?”

“That’s what I said,” Cail agreed, moving to the bench and setting about making coffee. “But she said he wouldn’t be available, and that Lothraxion would be assuming his duties in his place.”

“How would she- oh. Never mind.” Ylora stretched her arms before standing from the couch, and meandered toward the bench between them.

“Yeah,” he said, and favored her with a grin. “Bronze. You get used to it.” He held up an empty mug, and shook it in the universal sign of _you want some?_ Ylora nodded, and Cail set to work. “Assuming she can get the glow-goats on side, things will start moving quickly. Are you up for this?” He set the filled mugs down on the bench, and took a seat across from her.

Ylora took the drink gratefully, using both hands to hold it. “You have not seen me at my best. This week has been a trial, for all of us. Do not doubt my will to see this through - after all, it is my plan.” She shivered slightly as the first of the coffee kicked in. “Oh, this is good,” she sighed pleasantly.

“The real reason Zonya sticks with me, I make a mean breakfast,” Cail noted wryly. “It’s a hell of a plan, I’ll give you that. Wouldn’t have expected it from you, truth be told.”

Ylora nodded. “What do you know of me?” she asked, curious.

“Well. Nothing, really. But you’re a dragon, and generally speaking, dragons are not known for reckless rule breaking. Unless they’ve gone crazy, or lost someone they care for. Have you gone crazy?”

Ylora gave him a look. “It is a good thing this coffee is exceptional. You underestimate the danger the path of war has placed us all on. So do others of my kind. _Something_ must be done.”

Cail held up his hands placatingly. “Hey, I’m on your side, remember? I have to ask. Personally, I think we could use some more bold action-taking. It’s more my style, anyway.” He winked at her, and drank his morning coffee.

“What of yourself, mortal?” Ylora asked, and he looked up at her suddenly, surprised by the question. “What do you mean, what of me?”

“Are you up for this? Can you be relied upon? Have you gone crazy?”

He considered her. Ylora did not seem implacable or ready to judge him lacking, but looked intent and serious. “Right. You wouldn’t know of me either,” he said. “I was at Outland. I did my time. I’ve seen battle - too much of it. Don’t let my-” He made quotation signs with his fingers. “ _Indolent lifestyle_ , as they say, fool you. I’ve had enough of war, too much, to want to see it again lightly.”

Ylora held his gaze for a moment, before she blinked, and nodded acceptance. “Very well.”

Cail studied her back for a moment. “I’m sorry about Ysera,” he said, softer than expected.

For a moment, bright anger blossomed in her heart, quickly quashed. Ylora closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Those were _not_ tears, damn it! “Losing her is a loss greater, I think, than I can ever truly grasp.”

Cail reached over and squeezed her hand. “I can’t pretend to understand. Dragon Aspects are - well, it’s outside my mortal expertise. Mortality, though.” He holds her gaze. “Mortality we’re practically experts in. It will get better. Things carry on. Not the same. It’s not the…” His lips twisted wryly. “Not the end.”

Ylora took a deep breath, another. Regained her composure. “Thank you,” she repeated, and pulled her hand back, took her coffee in hand and bought some time as she raised it to her mouth. “You do not fit the rumors we dragons hear about you,” she noted, hiding a small, fragile smile behind her mug as she finished it off.

Cail looked like he’d just discovered a landmine, the sombre mood blown to the winds. “What? Rumors? Wait, what? What are they saying about me? Ylora-!”

From the direction Cail had come, Zonya briskly entered the room, sat down next to Ylora, and stole Cail’s mug, downing the remainder of his coffee in one go. “They’ll do it,” she explained, as Cail stared at her in mock apoplexy. “We’re to meet them above Nighthaven, and we’ll go from there.”

Ylora let out a breath she’d held for all too long. “When?”

Zonya put down the mug, and pushed it towards Cail, who made an exasperated sound. “In an hour.” She looked at both of them. “How do you feel about a quick flight?”

It was a brief few minutes’ work to prepare - most of the work had been done earlier, and when Cail stepped out into the front yard, swords strapped to his back, it was to find two broad-winged dragons, one bronze gold, the other emerald green, waiting for him to hurry up already. He clambered gamely up Zonya’s flank, secured himself atop her with practised ease, and then all there was for him to do was to hold on as they took off, soon soaring high above the distant terrains and biomes of Kalimdor, too high for any border patrols to take notice as they made the trip to Moonglade.


	4. Chapter 4

It had taken most of the hour to reach the small village of Nighthaven, and when they did, Zonya and Ylora entered a holding pattern, rather than land. The weather had turned from sunny Mulgore morning to rainy Moonglade day, and all three of them were soaked through.

 “There,” Cail called after a couple of minutes, and pointed to the east. At the far horizon, a glowing light could be seen rocketing toward them at speed, streaking through the sky. Before they knew it, it was above them, arriving with a roar of noise and displaced air.

 The Vindicaar had arrived.

 It was a matter of minutes to circle around to where they could board the Draenei vessel, and the airlock blew warm, dry air at them until their dripping had stopped before it let them enter the ship proper. “Not how I prefer to be blown,” Cail groused, and ran a hand through his thoroughly messed up hair.

 Ylora let out an undignified giggle, and Zonya winked at him. “We have a war to turn first,” she teased, as they stepped onto the Vindicaar bridge.

 It looked much as Cail remembered, though the two dragons gazed about, unfamiliar with the ship. He gestured towards the gently angled ramps that would lead them to the front viewing deck, where he saw Lothraxion standing, a Draenei next to him. A mage, by the look of her robes. They turned as the three of them approached.

 “Zonyadormi,” Lothraxion greeted her, bowing deeply. “And you must be Ylora, and Cailendan. Welcome aboard the Vindicaar.”

 “Are we underway?” Ylora asked, peering behind them to the view.

 “As soon as you were aboard,” responded the Draenei. “I am Archmage Y’mera. Here I act as Lothraxion’s second in command.” Now that they were closer, the telltale signs of a Lightforged were obvious.

 “We’ll reach the transition waypoint shortly,” Lothraxion elaborated. “Why don’t we go over the plan one last time?” He gestured towards the controls in the middle of the platform, and a holographic display fired up, a neon abstraction of Darkshore and, off to the side, Teldrassil.

 Ylora nodded, and stepped forward. “We cross the mountain range bordering Darkshore from the east, and translate to the past - with Zonya’s assistance.” The two dragons shared a nod. “This should position us favourably within reach of Alliance - Malfurion’s forces. I will go, to brief him and to grant him the favour of my dragonflight.”

 Y’mera gestured at the controls, and the holographic Vindicaar perched atop the mountain range as the camera zoomed in, and a bright green dot fluoresced and coasted down to the ground just east of Lor’danel. “Meanwhile, the Vindicaar will fly by Lor'danel, transporting troops to the ground to assist in town defence as a second priority. Their primary objective is to rid the nearby forests of Sylvanas’ support for her duel with Malfurion.” Again, the hologram adjusts. “It is not an army. Our numbers are relatively light, but it should serve to tip the balance. Once disembarked, we turn for Teldrassil, and transport as many Night Elves aboard as we can.”

 While Y’mera explained, Cail tugged a thin, amber crystal free from his belt and handed it to Zonya, who concentrated fiercely as she held it, as her efforts suffused it with a soft glow. She handed it to Lothraxion. “This will help anchor the Vindicaar in this timestream. Once you’re ready to return to our time, shatter it.”

 Lothraxion took the offered crystal, and waved over a junior officer. “Insert this into the Matrix Core,” he ordered, and the subordinate hurried to obey.

 Ylora studied the hologram. “Once Malfurion is briefed, I will fly to Teldrassil as well. Tend to its boughs and branches.” She shrugs, as if less confident. “I hope it is not needed. I cannot make it fireproof, but there are things that might mitigate the damage. There are… costs. I hope we can stop Sylvanas outright, and not be forced to rely on such measures.” She shuddered. “But I dare not risk failing to have fallbacks in place.”

 Cail nodded. He’d seen enough battle plans fall apart in his time, and had been pleasantly surprised - hell, was it only yesterday? - to find that Ylora has planned for it. “Meanwhile, Zonya and I will be patrolling for targets of opportunity, Horde commanders who can be picked off. Destabilise and provide support for anything unexpected that crops up.”

 Zonya grinned at him. “I’ll also be anchoring us all here in time. Once things are set aright, we meet up in Lor’danel, and translate back to the present.”

 Lothraxion stroked his chin. “It’s a good plan,” he assented. “Keep in mind, however, the risks. Our intelligence surrounding the final day of battle in Darkshore is still sketchy at best. Things may not be as we think, or play out how we imagine. We may not be able to save everyone-” he glanced at Ylora. “-that we want to. And we are doubly unsanctioned - Nozdormu could still step in to stop us-” Zonya snorted softly. “-or my own commanders could attempt to recall us.”

 Cail frowned. “You’re rebelling?” he asked, some incredulity seeped through.

 “Nothing so extreme,” Y’mera replied, her hands held out reassuringly, her tail twitching behind her. “Lothraxion has command authority in High Exarch Turalyon’s absence.”

 “But if he were to return and find us missing, questions may be asked,” Lothraxion continued. “I do not fear the questions, nor do I think this path unjust. But the window of opportunity to act closes fast.”

 Ylora took a deep breath. “All going well, we will stop this war before it started, save Teldrassil, save…” Another deep breath. “Save Malfurion. Save the Kaldorei race. Dance fast enough around our respective superiors to get away with it after the fact.” She looked at everyone gathered here, her eyes full of emotion. “Zonya. Lothraxion. Cail. Y’mera. _Thank you._ ”

 Only Cail noticed the troubled look on Zonya’s face.

 Lothraxion clapped his hands together. “Alright. Looks like we’re about to reach our waypoint. Zonya, are you ready?”

 Shaking herself out of it, Zonya nodded. “This won’t hurt a bit.” Taking a deep breath, she flung her hands wide-

 - and everything went bright golden white.


	5. Chapter 5

“Report,” Lothraxion’s voice carried across the bridge.

“We’re here,” Y’mera responded. Outside the window, Teldrassil could be seen in the distance, whole and hale. “We’ve located the Night Elf staging grounds.” She turned towards Ylora, and gave her a sharp nod, which the Green dragon returned.

“I am already going,” Ylora called, striding back towards the exit hatch.

“The time is right,” Zonya said, strain threaded through her voice. “Holding temporal position is difficult. This timeway is damaged. Hurry.” Cail stepped closer to Zonya, and started muttering quietly.

“Ylora’s away,” Y’mera called out, pointing out where the Green dragon was coasting down to the staging grounds. “Course is set for Lor’danel. We’re moving.” The distant village started moving closer in the window, and flashes of light started to mottle the image. “Troop transport in progress.” Slowly, the Vindicaar moved into position.

 

* * *

 

Scouts mounted on hippogryphs had intercepted Ylora, and escorted her down to the makeshift staging grounds. Sentinels could be seen rushing about from tent to tent, and cartloads of arrows and glaives were being handed out like hallow’s end candy. She looked out of place, lined up behind other hippogryphs for her turn to touch down, but soon enough she was on the ground, and back in her Night Elf form.

A young, but high-ranking Sentinel, a sword in each hand - a Captain, by the look of it - stepped forward as Ylora moved off the landing square, and pulled her from the throng moving about. “Captain Delaryn Summermoon,” she introduced herself curtly. “Identify yourself.”

Ylora shook herself. “I am the Green dragon Ylora, and I have come back with a warning.” She hoped the Sentinel wouldn’t give her any trouble. “I need to speak with Malfurion Stormrage immediately.”

Delaryn stared at her for a long moment, eyes glowing bright from the darkness of her hood. Finally, she nodded. “With me, Ylora. And mark me, this had better not be a waste of time.”

 

* * *

Zonya took a deep, shuddering breath, and opened her eyes. “I’ve anchored us as best I can,” she declared. “Jackass,” she added, fondly, elbowing Cail.

“We’re holding over Lor’danel,” Y’mera told them. “Half the troops are away.” Through the window, bursts of light continued to announce their reinforcements hitting the ground.

Lothraxion turned to them. “Time for you both to be off, then. See you on the other side.”

“ _ Archenon poros _ ,” Y’mera added, hitting the transporter controls.

Zonya nodded, as she and Cail were transported down.

 

* * *

“Find out what the Vindicaar is doing up there,” Malfurion stood not in a command tent, as other commanders in the Alliance might, but out in the open, a tree stump that had fashioned itself into a command table before him, a tight thatch of trees that had been hastily encouraged to grow protecting his southern flank.

A Druid of the Talon nodded, then left, almost barreling into the Sentinel Captain as she brought Ylora within the perimeter.

“The Vindicaar is here to help, but has its own mission parameters, Shan’do Stormrage,” Ylora began.

Delaryn rolled her eyes. “She came in during the flyer arrivals,” she explained.

Malfurion looked at the Night Elf, though he knew better. “Ylora,” he greeted her. “This is not a good time. Sylvanas pushes for open war.”

“I know,” Ylora nodded. “She is going to burn Teldrassil. She is going to kill you. She  _ has _ done these things already. I’ve come back to stop it.”

Delaryn gasped, and Malfurion studied her closely. “You’ve come back in time,” he says slowly.

Ylora nodded. “Events were set in motion that could not be borne. I have come to save us all.”

“Tell me,” Malfurion said.

“Sylvanas has enough troops past the front line to ambush you. The Vindicaar is tasked with flushing them out. Troops are fanning out from Lor’danel to remove them. I have some more detailed information, which I hope we have bought time enough to discuss.”

At the mention of Lor’danel, Delaryn let out a sigh of relief. “Thank Elune,” she added. “My hope had almost failed.”

“Hope never fails,” Ylora replied, a thread of steel conviction in her voice. “No matter the enemy. She could kill us all, burn Teldrassil, kill Malfurion - she  _ did.  _ But no-one can kill hope. Not even she. I have come here to ensure it. Remember that.”

Delaryn nodded solemnly. “I will,” she promised.

Malfurion nodded. “Now, perhaps, we have a little more hope than before. Come. Tell me what I need to know to save my people.”

 

* * *

“Troops are away,” Y’mera called in her accented voice.

“Then so are we,” Lothraxion replied. “Take us to Teldrassil.”

Beneath them both, they felt the  _ thrumm  _ of the engines through the deck plates, as the view through the window tilted towards Darnassus.

 

* * *

On the ground, Cail had just finished directing Vindicaar troops around, and turned around to find Zonya approaching.

“I have the scouting reports on enemy commanders,” she said. “We can get out there as soon as you’re ready.”

Cail nodded, then pulled her gently aside. They had a few moments of privacy. “I get the feeling this won’t end the way we’re hoping. You know something.”

Zonya huffed impatiently. “We don’t have time- Look. I asked you to trust me, right?”

Cail nodded. “And I am. Just, please tell me we’re not leading everyone into a massacre.”

Ah. That much, at least, she could reassure him about. “We’re not. This isn’t a suicide mission. Is that enough for now?” 

Cail nodded. “For now.” He backed up a few steps, giving Zonya room to change.

 

* * *

The Vindicaar spiralled up around Teldrassil, until at last Darnassus came into view - and with it, some decidedly unwanted enemy air traffic.

“Horde Wind Riders are moving to intercept,” Y’mera called.

“Activate defenses. Fire at will,” Lothraxion ordered. Tight beams of light broke through the sky, and Wind Riders began to tumble.

“We’ve entered range of Teldrassil. Initiating mass transports.” The internal lights of the Vindicaar flickered and dimmed slightly, as the ship rerouted internal energies between its systems, bring up Night Elves dozens at a time. The lower decks began to fill, even as her weapon systems brought down attack wave after attack wave.

“They’ve figured out we’re a threat,” Lothraxion mused, as the ship shuddered beneath his feet. Outside, impacts began to register against the Vindicaar’s shields. “Hold position. Continue the evacuation. We need more time.”

Y’mera keyed her controls. She didn’t need to give voice to her concerns about how long they could keep this up.

 

* * *

It had taken precious time, but Ylora had passed on as much intelligence as she could to Malfurion about the disposition of Sylvanas’ forces, and the tactics she had employed. Finally, she had granted him what blessings she could spare. This task at least, was done.

She had not persuaded Malfurion to avoid direct combat entirely, but with reports coming in that Vindicaar troops had begun clearing out Horde forces from the nearby forests, she was sure her mission was going well.

Delaryn escorted her back to the outskirts of the staging ground. “I’ll be going to Lor’danel to take command of its defense,” she explained. “With the help of your forces we might have a chance at holding it.”

Ylora nodded. “ _ Tor ilisar'thera'nal _ ,” she said. “Good luck.” Stepping back, she shifted form, and turned toward Teldrassil. The Vindicaar could be seen in the distance, lights flickering around it, as she took off, her mind set on her next objective.

 

* * *

Zonya flew low above the treeline, bursts of light and flame visible from below. Cail held on tight, aghast at the evident scale of the conflict.

All of Darkshore was at war. He knew it was no mere clash or small battle, intellectually, but seeing it was never the same, and this was no different. The scale still shocked him. Sylvanas  _ really _ wanted this.

He felt Zonya shift beneath him, and they veered east towards the mountains. Ahead, he saw one of the commanders through an opening in the forest, hunched over a table. He checked his swords and his grip, and then Zonya was slowing, as she banked into a holding circle. Taking a deep breath, Cail loosed his grip, and then he was falling through the sky, swords pulled, his target coming up fast.

 

* * *

On the Vindicaar bridge, sparks flew from various control panels and controls. The ship shook as, through the window, the shields lit up unlike anything since the days of the Antoran Wastes. Defensive fire continues to flash out.

“Where did all these Wind Riders come from?” asked Lothraxion out loud. “Our intelligence didn’t attribute these numbers!”

Y’mera pushed controls, and glanced over her readouts. “Ship systems are running at one hundred twenty percent over rated maximums. I don’t know how much longer we can do this.”

“How is the evacuation progressing?” His wings twitched in frustration.

Y’mera shook her head. “We have approximately four hundred thousand aboard. Room for another three hundred thousand, if we crowd them up.”

“Jam them in between the crystal relays if you need to,” Lothraxion ordered. “There’s no way to speed things up?”

“No. I’ve already broken six safety functions to keep this up.” An alert flashed on her controls, and she keyed it up.

A holographic sketch of a Draenei avatar appeared. “Archmage,” the image spoke. “Something’s wrong with the Matrix Core. It’s the overloaded systems draw, that crystal the dragon gave us to insert in there is cracking apart.”

Y’mera’s hands flew over the controls as Lothraxion spun around and strode over. More lights flickered, and more sparks, with some loud bangs this time. “I can’t reroute without shutting down systems,” she called in a tone of rising but restrained panic. Looking up, she saw the entire view out the window start to flicker in and out. Teldrassil and Wind Riders there one moment, an embered stump the next, then back again. “Shela'na, we’re losing containment! Get out of there!” Y’mera shouted at the hologram, then glanced to Lothraxion.

“We need more time,” he grated. “Prepare to-”

 

* * *

Ylora beat her wings hard, as she strained for every ounce of speed she could produce. Things had been going according to plan, and the elation filled her heart with hope. The Horde were being pushed back on the mainland, and before her, the Vindicaar was evacuating the populace, just as planned.

There seemed to be a hell of a lot of Wind Riders fighting her, though, Ylora noticed, and then just as she approached, she saw the Vindicaar flicker, and then distort in a recognisable way, then vanish.


	6. Chapter 6

Ylora careened down into the deserted Rut'theran Village, and shifted immediately into her Night Elf form. “No, no, no!” she cried out, though it ended as a keening wail. The Vindicaar was gone, and with it her plan would be unravelling. She allowed herself a few seconds to vent her rising panic and fear, before she pulled herself together.

Okay. The Vindicaar was gone early. She still had Teldrassil to save.

Ignoring the shaking of her body, she strode towards the roots of Teldrassil, and placed her hands upon its bark. Taking deep breaths, she set to summoning ancient, powerful magic, to imbue the tree with what protections she could.

She hoped things were going better elsewhere.

 

* * *

Cail wiped his blades clean. They’d grabbed the last commander on their list while he was having a smoke break, of all things.  _ They just weren’t instilling discipline like they used to _ , he mused, while Zonya searched for any papers or written orders of note.

She didn’t find any papers, but she did find an odd clockwork contraption. “Cail…” She held it up, turning toward him.

He frowned at it. “What are you thinking?”

Zonya grinned swiftly at him. “I’m thinking we smash it.”

“Alright.” He swung back a sword, and Zonya lobbed the cube high in the air, and stepped back. He whipped the sword forward, and neatly sliced the contraption in half.

As the halves hit the ground, he felt a buzzing in one of his pockets. “Hmm,” he said, and Zonya looked at him quizzically.

“Guess it was messing with Hearthstones,” he explained, as he fished his out of his pocket, and lobbed it to her.

Zonya held it a moment. “Maybe,” she allowed, then handed it back to him. Cail stashed it away, then turned back to the broken halves of the device.

Then, a sudden feeling of  _ wrongness _ to the north, and Zonya stumbled, gasping. Cail was at her side in a moment.

“The Vindicaar,” Zonya gasped. “The anchor’s gone. It’s slipped back to the present.”

Cail glanced in the direction of Teldrassil. “Ylora should be at Teldrassil by now. We’ve dealt with the commanders. Where to?” He looked back at her.

Zonya regained her breath slowly, then her footing. “Rut'theran Village. We need to be at Rut'theran Village for what’s next.”

Cail nodded slowly. “Alright. I trust you. You good for the ride?”

Zonya gave him a quick, shaky grin. “For you,” she nodded.

 

* * *

Captain Delaryn Summermoon swore under her breath. The Vindicaar forces had been a much needed boost, and when she’d arrived at Lor’danel, things seemed well in hand.

The Green dragon had told her that Horde numbers were greater than she and Malfurion had anticipated. Apparently they were greater than  _ she _ had anticipated as well.

The initial push had done well, shoving back the defensive line leagues into the forest. But apparently Sylvanas’ well of reserves were deeper still, and the reports she now received showed those lines now pushing back in, closing around Lor’danel like a choker.

Malfurion has pushed ahead when reports were good, hoping to force the horde back to the river, and been cut off by the quickly shifting lines of battle. She didn’t know where he was out there, but hoped he was safe from the fate they’d been warned about. She didn’t have the forces anymore to force her way out to ensure it.

There was a bright flash in the sky, and she covered her eyes with her arm to block out the glare. Those scant few seconds were all it took for the Vindicaar to disappear from the skies when she looked for the source. More swearing, and not under her breath this time.

It was beginning to look like it really was a war Sylvanas wanted, no matter the cost.

So be it.

“Sentinels!” she shouted. “Defensive line! We stand!” If it was a fight to the death the Horde wanted, well, she would gladly guide them to it. They could still achieve something worthwhile here. She grabbed her swords, and went to join her sisters.

She still had her hope.

 

* * *

Ylora was a channel, massive, eldritch energies flowed through her control, poured through her arms into the roots, bough, and crown of Teldrassil. Tears ran down her face, a response to the mingled effort of her work and the losses she could keenly feel, connected as she was to  _ life _ in this moment.

It wasn’t enough.

Deep down, she could feel it. Life magic was fierce, and powerful, but it was slow to seep into the already deeply magical wood of Teldrassil. It would not burn like kindling, she could feel, as her magic knitted through its woodwork. But it could still burn, more like a slow, enduring fire than a fierce blaze.

Around her, the grassy hills of Rut'theran Village has bloomed, and she was crowded by flowers of every colour, a sympathetic response to the outpouring of her will. Even the roots of Teldrassil has sprouted a tiny sapling next to her, such was the flow of power she channeled here.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

Still, she worked.

Behind her, she heard the flap of wings, and knew that Zonya had returned.

 

* * *

Zonya landed them expertly, and Cail hopped off, then stepped back to let her change. He approached Ylora as close as he dared, but the magic that pulsed from her was strong - one of the strongest magic fields he’d ever felt, though his sister would punch him if he admitted it - and so he stood several feet back.

Zonya came up behind her. “The Vindicaar is lost!” she shouted over the din of Ylora’s spellwork. “Returned to our present.”

“I know!” Ylora grated out, her concentration on her work. “I saw it leave this timeway.”

Zonya persisted. “Lor’danel is also fallen, or will be soon. The Horde have greater numbers than we thought. There is a swarm of Wing Riders above us!”

“I know that too!” Ylora cried. “How can I not? I feel every fire bomb they drop!” And she did, tied to the tree as she was by the spell.

“Ylora,” Zona pleaded, and she stepped up to her, closer than Cail could, and placed a hand on her shoulder, then winced at the close contact to the spellwork. “We’ve done what we can. We’ve done  _ everything _ we can. It’s time to go!”

“Not everything,” Ylora grated. “But... you  _ would  _ know best about what time it is.” She gritted her teeth, and with a supreme effort of will, began to wind down her spell.

Around her, the whorl of magic began to slow, and the imbued glow in the flowers around her faded.

Zonya and Cail waited as the intricate spellwork wound down. “Teldrassil… is as protected as it can be.” Ylora panted, exhausted from her efforts.

Zonya took a steadying breath. “Are we ready to leave, then?” she asked.

Ylora looked at her. “I said,  _ not _ everything.” She took a few shaky steps closer to the root of Teldrassil.

“Ylora, we can’t  _ do  _ any-”

“You don’t see  _ everything, _ Zonya,” Ylora retorted, and focused. Bringing her hands together, she cupped them against the bark, and when she pulled them back, softly glowing green, the new sapling came with her.

She turned toward Zonya. “ _ Now _ we can go.”

Zonya smiled in understanding, and then everything flashed bright golden white.


	7. Chapter 7

They had flown in silence from Rut'theran Village - or what was left of it. None of them knew what to say about the obvious.

Teldrassil had not survived.

A burning stump, embers still alight, was all that remained. More than had last time, but not enough for their objectives. Not nearly enough.

The Vindicaar was in the sky, moving toward Moonglade. Ylora and Zonya, with Cail on her back, easily dodged around the meagre Horde patrols and intercepted the Draenei ship.

Inside, lights still flickered, and some crystal infrastructure stood at off kilter angles. Everyone gathered on the bridge, as engineers hurried about, performing repairs.

Lothraxion broke the silence. “We did what we could,” he said sorrowfully.

“Teldrassil burns,” Y’mera added. “But we have many Night Elves aboard ship. Surely the evacuation efforts saved most of the remainder.”

“We won’t know for sure until we check in,” Zonya said. “Find out the details. About Malfurion, too.”

“Our intel obviously wasn’t as accurate as we could have hoped for,” Cail added. “Our - They - their forces were too great.”

“None of that matters,” Ylora interjected tiredly. Everyone turned to look at her. “Not immediately. We have a more pressing matter to attend.” She opened her hands, revealing the sapling of Teldrassil, safe in her grasp.

“Does anyone know of a place where we can encourage this to grow?” she asked.

 

* * *

It took most of an hour to debate the merits of where to go. By then, the Vindicaar was more than capable of setting a course, and with her engines burning bright, they blazed across the Great Sea.

Halfway there, they received a visitor. When she came through the airlock, it was as a High Elf, dressed in blue.

“The Kirin Tor couldn’t help but notice  _ something _ was going on,” Astragosa explained. “Good thing I volunteered to look into it, too. I don’t know many who would have been able to catch you at this speed.”

“What is it you intend to do?” Zonya asked. Ylora had been resting, and had been woken up when the blue dragon had arrived. Nonetheless she was still too tired to say much. Cail busied himself making various drinks for the impromptu meeting.

“Me? Nothing. Information gathering. Though…” Astragosa made a show of looking around the room. “... given what sort of residues I see here, maybe you’d like some information from me first.”

Zonya maked an amused, relieved noise. “Busted,” she admitted. “I admit, there are some holes in what we know right now.”

“What would you like to know about?” Astragosa takes her mug of tea from Cail, and nodded her thanks.

“Teldrassil,” came Ylora’s tired voice. “Tell us about Teldrassil.”   
  


* * *

The tree had burnt, despite their efforts. It was not cinders this time - that much, at least, of Ylora’s spellwork had performed its task. Most of those remaining in Darnassus had been evacuated in time, some late-arriving adventurers assisting in escorting people to the escape portals. There had been a  mystery over many missing people - some survivors had reported that people had disappeared in bright lights for hours before Teldrassil fell, but no-one had any answers for where they had gone, or if they were in Horde hands, or even alive.

That mystery, at least, they could solve for Astragosa, and her relief at having a happy answer for that puzzle, at least, was palpable.

Malfurion had survived. Instead of cut down by an army, he had duelled Sylvanas alone. It had nearly gone as badly as before, but this time, Tyrande had arrived, and been able to use her hearthstone to bring him out, to get the medical attention he needed. It had been altogether too close, and Astragosa did not miss the surprised glance between Zonya and Cail at the mention of his transport to Stormwind. She’d made a mental note to investigate that later.

Ylora asked about Delaryn, though Astragosa did not recognise the name, until it was mentioned she was Malfurion’s Captain. Malfurion had also asked about her when he awoke, she had told them, but no-one had seen her since the battle. It seemed likely that she had fallen at Lor’danel. Ylora didn’t ask any more questions after that.

Astragosa then teased their tale from them, and at last, found out why they were making full speed for the Eastern Kingdoms. For her part, Zonya seemed concerned that she would interfere. Instead, Astragosa found herself offering to help.

With that, there was nothing for everyone to do but rest until their arrival. And for Astragosa to ponder how she was going to explain all this later.


	8. Chapter 8

They arrived at Lordamere Lake in the pitch-black hours of early morning. Astragosa had explained how the Battle for Lordaeron had played out - not much had changed there. Crucially, the event had left a lot of land very suddenly abandoned.

The Undercity - Lordaeron City - was flooded with Blight. It seemed scorched earth was indeed the policy of the day, and thus was unsuitable. The danger of corruption there would be too high.

Lordamere Lake, however, would do nicely. What ruins remained on the isle in its centre would not be a hindrance.

Zonya, Astragosa, Cail, Lothraxion, and Y’mera transported down to the western edge of the lake, while Ylora worked in the centre of Fenris Isle, planting the sapling and performing the required magics to ensure it grew true. By the time she came skimming over the lake, broad wings gliding her over, the others could see the results of her labours, a good two or three stories tall, its canopy poking above the ruins it would soon overgrow.

Ylora landed, shifted back, and stepped towards her fellow dragons. “It is planted,” she said. “It took.”

Zonya looked at Ylora and Astragosa. “Time for the next part, then.”

Astragosa looked at Lothraxion and Y’mera. “You’ll want to stand a little further back.”

Zonya gave Cail a mock glare. “You too,” she admonished.

Cail hesitated, then moved in close to kiss her. “Stay safe,” he said.

Zonya smiled. “Shoo.” She turned to Ylora and Astragosa. “Shall we?”

Ylora took Zonya’s right hand in her left, and Astragosa’s left in her right. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to sing.

It was, to the ears of Cail, Lothraxion, and Y’mera, objectively the most beautiful thing they had ever heard. As Ylora sang, she pulled again on her magic, the power swelling like a rising tide. With Zonya and Astragosa there, they too drew on their own wellsprings to work their secondary magics, a support and augmentation of Ylora’s own.

Ylora’s voice rose, and with it all the hairs on Cail’s arms and legs. With it, the boughs of the new tree grew. With it, the power thrumming in the air strengthened, and flowed, directed by the powers of the three dragons who stood at the edge of the lake.

And the tree grew.

The wind rushed past, whipped into a storm of motion as they worked, whipped their hair to and fro as they concentrated on their work. This was the second great work Ylora has performed in as many days, but she dared not risk it going wrong.

The earth rumbled, and the air keened, and the tree grew, crushing over the ruins of the lake, reaching higher into the sky. Its circumference grew thick, and its roots reached towards the lake.

Ylora sang it to grow. Zonya compressed all the time in the world, to let what it would be  _ then _ become  _ now _ . Astragosa worked in arcane protections, to safeguard against corruption and mortal dangers both terrible and all too recent.

The wind was a tempest, and it sang with Ylora’s voice, and then at last, all too soon, it ended.

And before them all stood a new World Tree, as the sun rose.


	9. Chapter 9

The three dragons sagged against each other, sinking to sit on the ground of the lake’s edge.

“Incredible,” breathed Y’mera, as she stared at the tree that now completely covered what was Fenris Isle.

“So, this is the kind of magic that defeated Archimonde,” Lothraxion mused. “I never thought to see it up close.”

“It is done,” Ylora said tiredly. “The tree has taken root. You will find its canopy suitable for a new home, should the Night Elves wish it.”

“I’m sure they will consider it strongly,” Zonya said, as she turned to Astragosa. “How are you going to report all this?” she asked.

Astragosa barked a weary laugh. “I’ll report that it needed to be done, and the Kirin Tor can argue about it for six months.” She eyed Zonya. “As for Nozdormu.” She snorted. “Like he wouldn’t have stopped this before you started if he didn’t want it done.”

“Thank you,” Zonya said. Astragosa smiled in reply.

Cail looked up wonderingly at the tree, then back to Ylora. “World Trees usually have names,” he prompted.

“Yes,” Ylora said. “I name it  _ Aludrassil. _ ”

Cail blinked, trying to recall any Darnassian he may have once learnt, before Zonya rescued him.

“ _ Crown of hope _ , Cail. It means Crown of hope.”


End file.
